


something like home

by Mija



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mija/pseuds/Mija
Summary: “It was weird, being up here again,” Crowley says.Heaven used to be Crowley’s home, but that was a long time ago, and it’s okay, really.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 14





	something like home

**Author's Note:**

> See here for the German version:  
> [ Zuhause ](https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5d53de040003e943263425aa/1/Zuhause)

Heaven is colder than Crowley remembers.

Something’s been nagging at his mind ever since his arrival, some vague feeling of _wrongness_ , but the realisation only hits him when the push him – _Aziraphale_ – down on to the chair and tie his wrists to its armrests.

It’s _cold._

Hell is always warm, of course: the stifling, sticky, unpleasant kind of heat that follows you home and won’t leave you alone for days. Crowley never felt comfortable with it (Hell isn’t his _home_ , after all), but if he had to choose between the heat of Hell and the cold of Heaven, well ... He’s forgot how sterile everything is up here, how bright, how vast. And how _hard_ , so many sharp edges and right angles ... Funny, isn’t it? Humans seem to believe that Heaven is a pleasant place, all pastel colours, where cheerful angels play their harps somewhere between fluffy clouds.

Crowley tries to imagine Gabriel with a harp and fails spectacularly.

The angels, he thinks bitterly, probably don’t even notice the cold – it’s a safe bet that their self-righteousness keeps them warm while they are looking forward to pushing their biggest problem into the hellfire.

Crowley has to force himself not to clench his fists. Aziraphale doesn’t clench his fists, he’s too soft for it, and only now, after all this time, facing Sandalphon, Uriel and Gabriel and their horribly self-satisfied expressions, Crowley fully understands the tremendous strength required by this softness.

The body swap was his idea.

 _So you do get to see Heaven again, after all_ , Aziraphale said, trying to hide his obvious worry behind hypocritical ease, just for Crowley’s sake. Crowley knows that what he really wanted to ask was, _Will you be alright?_ He just shrugged, casually as always, and answered, _This is gonna be great. Fun trip, eh?_ And now he’s here, in this endless, white, far too quiet room, and the memories of the day they _cast him out_ fight each other for his attention.

He pushes them aside. He can’t allow himself to get distracted – after all, Aziraphale’s existence is at stake. Crowley has never been trusted with a bigger responsibility and whatever happens, he _mustn’t fail_.

As it is, he fears that his impression of Aziraphale is probably less convincing than Aziraphale’s impression of him. (And isn’t it a pity that he won’t get to see his friend’s performance?) He knows that he should try to act a bit more like Aziraphale – Aziraphale who is so open, who can’t hide his emotions, whose face and voice always give away so much ... Instead, fury holds him in such a tight grip that he has to restrain himself from jumping straight at Gabriel’s throat and blowing his cover in the process. The conflict between the two wishes – safety and revenge – leads to icy self-control.

Anybody who knows Aziraphale well (just Crowley, then, when he comes to think about it) would have spotted the difference between Aziraphale’s usual behaviour and Crowley’s tense imitation in an instant. The angels don’t notice it, of course. Self-righteousness is also very good for self-delusion.

Hard to believe that this used to be Crowley’s home. That he used to _feel_ at home here, even if it was only temporarily ... That, despite everything he likes to claim, it _hurt_ so much when they cast him out.

Earth isn’t the only place that has changed, he reckons, and suddenly he’s glad to have experienced these changes down there, on _Earth_.

They untie his wrists and he steps closer to the fire, concentrated on playing the game until the very last second and, above all, _winning_ it.

“Shut your stupid mouth and die already,” Gabriel says, for once dropping his insincerely jovial tone of voice.

Crowley looks at him; all his emotions wrap themselves up into a painful tangle until there’s only room left for one thought: _It would have destroyed you if they had cast_ you _out._

He smiles, ever so slightly, and steps into the fire.

* * *

(Fire is better than the endless white plains of Heaven, safer, but it never really welcomes you. Hell isn’t meant to be a home.)

* * *

“It was weird, being up there again,” he says.

Aziraphale doesn’t reply, merely looks at him – a silent invitation to continue.

They’re still at The Ritz and about to finish their third bottle of champagne. The guests at the tables around them have long since been replaced by other guests, but nobody even dreams of shooing Crowley and Aziraphale away.

Crowley stares down into his glass, lost in thought. The alcohol hasn’t shown any effect yet and he’s almost disappointed. Sometimes he curses the fact that it’s so hard for demons to get properly drunk, and stay drunk. On the other hand – if being sober means that he and Aziraphale have a civilised conversation, or at least as civilised as is possible for them _(if it means that Aziraphale looks at him so openly)_ , he’d rather continue like this a while longer.

“Yeah ... was really glad to be out of there again.”

Before the averted Apocalypse _(before he almost lost Aziraphale)_ , it would have been hard for him to talk about his emotions so openly. Before, though, he wouldn’t have thought it possible to be this glad about having fallen.

So much has changed, not only the fate of the world.

“Everything’s so _white_ ... terribly boring,” he mumbles. Did he think like this before he fell? He’s not quite sure anymore – maybe the alcohol does kick in after all – and he doesn’t care. “And the silence ... nah. Seriously. Though I guess it’d be possible to cope with that, after you’d got used to it. But having to see Gabriel’s face all the time ...”

He shudders theatrically and completely fails to hide his grin when Aziraphale laughs. “I know what you mean. I’m glad that _I_ didn’t have to face him again. Annoying Lord Beelzebub was far more amusing.”

Crowley raises his eyebrows. “I’m shocked, angel.”

What he actually wants to say is, _I’m proud of you_ , and maybe he even wants to say other, more treacherous things as well, but he’s still a demon, after all, and he has to keep up a certain facade, if only for his own sake.

It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty certain that Aziraphale knows exactly what he means anyway. 

Once more his friend raises his glass to him. “To new beginnings.”

Crowley mirrors the motion. “New beginnings.”

They stay a little bit longer, talk, sit in silence, and eventually they go home.


End file.
